The Hunted: Soldiers of Darkseid
by The Gray Ghoul
Summary: When Superman suddenly can't handle common thugs, Batman immediately questions it. Deciding they should finally meet, he urges Commissioner Gordon to ask Superman's assistance in capturing Batman. Superman agrees to apprehend the fugitive Batman…but promptly vanishes. When he returns, there's something terribly wrong with him.
1. Prologue - The Prodigal Son of Apokolips

**Prologue - The Prodigal Son of Apokolips**

Scott awakened to the familiar stench of sulfur.

A tremor coursed through the dungeon as a pit outside spewed lava. Yellow smoke snaked its way through cracks in the stone floor.

He was back. Home. Hell. Choices never much mattered here.

Suspended in midair, facing the ceiling, Scott was hogtied to a floating, bow-shaped metal frame with optic chains and alien locks.

Child's play. Literally. He'd built this thing himself, when he was a ten-year-old military trainee on the planet Apokolips. He could get out of it in three seconds flat—or for that matter, any trap. He'd had plenty of practice growing up. He wasn't called World's Greatest Escape Artist for nothing. He never failed to live up to the title.

Until today.

To be ensnared in a primitive design of his own creation—there was only one purpose for that: To elicit humiliation. And there was only one person who would know to do this. The twisted teacher he'd known as a child, the reason he was the master of escape that he was today. Granny.

Scott was so weak he couldn't move. Every muscle in his body ached like he'd been pummeled with hammers, and he could taste blood in his mouth. The salty, slimy taste of bile sat in his throat and what portion of his knees he could see through his torn Mister Miracle stage costume was tinged with gray and covered with open sores.

He closed his pale eyes. He'd been poisoned. Radion.

His Mother Box was gone. The loyal lifeline that stood by to heal him, help him, rescue him at his mere will, had been ripped out with the hooded part of his costume that contained his wavy black hair. He could hear the mechanical artifact's panicked bell faintly. Repetitive, rapid, like his ragged breath.

It was somewhere nearby. He gave his head a slight jerk upward, sending his body into a slow spin on a horizontal axis. He spotted it on the floor as he revolved. The circuitry lay damaged, spilling out of the hood's red and yellow synthetic casing; clear, glittering connectivity fluid evaporated from the heat of the volcanic bricks.

"You've been a naughty boy, haven't you?" Said a voice with an ululating quality.

A chill crept up his spine.

It was a voice he knew too well. Sickly sweet, grotesquely masculine, and usually followed by some kind of pain.

Scott stopped his slow spin, but not of his own volition. A tractor beam of soft purple light encased his form and made him stop, facing the dungeon's entrance.

Granny Goodness stood with her legs parted, her enormous girth filling the whole doorway, her wild white hair as coarse as the goat brush in a Spartan helmet. She slapped her Boom Stick into the palm of her hand, making Scott bob up and down in the air. "You've been keeping secrets, haven't you?" She taunted. "Granny will get it out, don't you worry."

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Scott asked, his voice hardly above a raspy whisper.

As she pulled him along with the tractor beam, his Mother Box's pinging intensified, growing high-pitched, frenetic, sensing imminent danger, but unable to describe what was about to happen because it was no longer connected to him. As he was led away, its warnings faded, and a hard stone of dread settled inside Scott's belly.

When Granny entered a large under-lit chamber with a cross-walkway, Scott spotted a devise over her shoulder. It was equipped with a chair and several circuits, power inverters, clamps, gauges, pumps, and conductors.

Granny turned to face Scott.

He couldn't do anything as she slammed him with a fat backhand—which felt like it had steel bars inside instead of bones. He blacked out instantly.

He woke up clamped upright into the chair, electrodes glued to his freshly shaved scalp. Chunks of black hair still dusted his shoulder, his lap. His sores itched and ached under the prickly hair.

"This will be your chance to serve Lord Darkseid like I taught you," Granny said with a somber nod. She grasped his chin with her gloved hand to protect her own porky skin from his Radion poisoning and looked into his pale blue eyes with her coal-black ones, beads of volcanic rock wedged inside papery folds of skin. "You haven't forgotten, have you?"

She let him go and activated the devise with a few pushes on a remote panel perched on a slender black pedestal.

Blades stirred into motion, began to beat behind him, sending locks of hair flying off his shoulders. Electricity pulsed through clear glass chambers and began to intensify, charging up.

Until then he had not noticed a figure standing in the black shadow of the devise, cloaked in sheets of sulfuric smoke rising from the lava far below. His arms were clasped behind his ramrod-straight back—a position to assert dominance, lordship, and cold surveillance. The red glow of his eyes intensified. Bright gossamer tendrils came away, blown into vapor by the beating blades at Scott's back. "I had hoped you would come to me. And so you have."

Scott regarded his step-father. "I didn't come for this."

Darkseid, ruler of Apokolips, stepped forward, pensive. The tyrant smiled. Lopsided, full of scorn. He gestured to the devise. "But you already have." He approached Scott, picked up a helmet with wires attached and placed it onto his own head. His body was etched from gray stone, without the curves and human-like beauty usually possessed by the New Gods. His flesh was marred by the scars of his soul, the coldness of his heart. "And you will continue to submit to the will of Darkseid."

"Never."

"I have always admired your tenacity, Scott. My victory will be all the greater for it." Darkseid's eyes glowed brighter, the fabled, notorious Omega Effect building power behind his eyes. Scott realized the devise would not work without the Omega. It was the only way to ensure that whatever information was in Scott's mind would go into another mind of Darkseid's choosing. And in this case, it was the mind of Darkseid himself.

Omega beams blast out of Darkseid's eyes, jagged, hard-angled, and took hold of two conductors.

Scott screamed in pain as splinters of Omega beams pulsed through the devise, shaking the ground, the walls. Rubble rained down upon them. Scott's brain seemed to shift inside his skull, contract and then explode. His eyes began to burn and he closed them tight, squeezing out tears of blood and salt.

He could do it now, destroy Darkseid with the knowledge he sought. Speak the words and it would be done. Darkseid and his will, annihilated forever. But Scott never would. He'd spent a lifetime resisting despair, fear, and failure, all pieces of the Anti-Life Equation. It was the knowledge that Scott carried in himself, the knowledge that Darkseid had spent _his_ lifetime seeking. It was the knowledge to destroy the universe and rebuild it anew, in exquisite and total submission to Darkseid's will.

Scott opened his eyes before Darkseid could siphon the whole Knowledge. Scott saw nothing but white light. He felt his retinas searing. Pain and power went hand in hand. His vision cleared slightly. Darkseid stood before him, a specter of black haloed in white, head tilted at Scott, curious as to what was happening to him.

Scott's eyes released plumes of glorious, curving beams of white light from his eyes. A ground-shattering, darkness-banishing blight. Scott's own Alpha Effect, the only inheritance from a father who had abandoned him to be a slave soldier of Darkseid. The devise exploded behind him. The lava below erupted into columns of fire, crimson molten rock spilled over the crosswalk and oozed off like thick blood. Knockback flung Darkseid away. He flipped and rolled, landing hard on his back.

Granny fell off the crosswalk with a strangled scream.

Scott's eyes stopped emitting the Alpha Effect, and he sagged in exhaustion against the chair. He was free.

Granny's Boom Stick dropped with a clatter and a glowing portal opened up in front of Scott.

Darkseid lunged for the Boom Stick. Scott had the presence of mind to fall toward the boom tube portal as his peripherals frayed into black. The Boom Stick went over the edge of the crosswalk.

The boom tube closed above Scott as he fell. He twisted in the air to see if he was being followed.

He wasn't.

The World's Greatest Escape Artist had done it again.

* * *

 _Author's Note: I'm fulfilling a story request from Bighead98 with the premise that, at the end of_ The Dark Knight _, when Batman becomes a fugitive from Gotham PD, what if Superman, after the events of_ Man of Steel, _was hired to hunt him down? What happens next escalates everything across the DC Universe. He gave me leeway to do whatever I needed to do to make the story work. I haven't told him any plot details so as not to ruin his enjoyment of the story._

 _Since many of DCU's characters have not yet been introduced in these movies, I'll do my best to introduce these characters to you, do them justice, as well as keep the timeline accurate and comprehensible._

 _Song I was listening to while writing this chapter: Ghost Walking by Lamb of God._

 _Since I have a hard time completing stories and updating them in a timely manner, I've decided that a weekly update is doable for me. By 11:59 PM every Sunday night, there will be a new chapter uploaded._

 _Enjoy the story._


	2. Achilles' Heel

**Chapter 1 – Achilles' Heel**

"Hey, Smallville, you gotta try these crab cakes." Lois used a pair of ornate silver tongs to drop another one into her plate. "I didn't know they made them this good." In a minute, golden Panko bread crumbs and hot oil were all that were left on her plate.

Clark shook his head. "I'm good, thanks."

"Oh my God, I'm so hungry. I didn't eat anything all day."

"That's no reason to not use a napkin. People are starting to stare."

"If they're staring it's because you look like you're going to puke all over their nice buffet." She dabbed her lips and pointed past the meteor exhibits in glass cases, to the ladies' room. "I'll be right back. Unless you want to join me and hurl your guts into a toilet while I fix my makeup."

"Let me get back to you on that."

Lois was about to walk away, but she stopped to take a closer look at him. "Really Kent, you're not looking so hot."

"I'm all right."

"What's wrong with you? Some kind of bug?"

"Yeah. Maybe."

"Better not be catching."

"I'll be sure to keep my distance."

By the time she returned, lips freshly glossed with color, the lights in the hall had been dimmed and the conference was already under way. She moved to stand beside Clark. She looked up at him and saw that he was sweating. "Hey, seriously, are you okay?"

He didn't answer.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Before we get underway, I'd just like to say thank you all so much for coming. This is a special honor for the city of Metropolis, to be able to display these very rare and precious meteorites that landed halfway across the world in China's Liaoning Province more than 30 years ago. We here at the Metropolis Museum of Natural History extend our warmest thanks and appreciation to Mister Lex Luthor and Mister Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises for making this rarest of occasions possible."

A round of delighted applause went up through the crowd.

"I now present, Mr. Lex Luthor."

More applause.

"Thank you. Thank you everyone. But I would not have been able to achieve this if not for Mr. Wayne's techniques of persuasion when it comes to the Chinese government."

Wayne leaned in. "It's called money, Lex."

Light laughter.

Clark exhaled shakily and his legs buckled a couple of times.

"Clark," Lois hissed. "Are you going to hold it together or not?"

"I…"

Luthor smiled knowingly. "Now, I don't want to bore you with a lot of technical detail concerning these meteor fragments you see around you. But the story goes that it was the middle of a summer night. Dawn was hours away, but the sun began to rise. Soon local villagers began to come out of their houses, confused, and saw that the sun had crumbled to hundreds and hundreds of pieces of gold.

"Balls of fire fell through their homes, on their crops, at their doorstep. Houses burned down and people were injured. It was a terrifying several minutes, but it was soon over. When all was said and done, all that was left, was this." Luthor gestured to the glass cases. "Shards of green meteorite.

"Because the Shenyang meteorites emit very low levels of radiation, the largest piece of this exhibit is going to be contained continuously in a lead casing for added safety and will be visible to museum patrons through a video monitor. However, for photography reasons and because of all of our guests, we are going to allow you to look at the meteorite up close. But don't worry. This level of radiation is so miniscule that it's totally harmless. Bruce, would you like to do the honors?"

Wayne spread his arms. "Sure."

The lights were dimmed further, plunging the room in almost total darkness except for the exit signs.

The meteorite shards currently on display inside small glass cubes emitted a slight green glow. The guests were oohing and aahing at their mystical quality.

Bruce Wayne approached the centerpiece and the lead casing. He pressed a button and the lead enclosure moved upward, leaving behind a thick, bullet-proof glass casing. A green hue fell over the guests as they gasped in wonder. Diamonds glittered like emeralds, blonds and brunettes suddenly had shades of green hair. Everyone's skin now held a sickly, radioactive glow.

Cameras began to flash as the newspaper photographers began to snap pictures. People took their own personal pictures on their phones. Camera crews filmed the meteorite while reporters talked.

But those damn green rocks were the last thing Lois was thinking about right now. Because Clark's legs finally gave out.

Lois caught him around the waist before he hit the ground and he leaned all his weight into her. She groaned and began to go down.

Bruce Wayne hurried over as the crowd funneled around them and took some of the weight off Lois. "Whoa there, big guy."

"Clark, are you okay?" Lois strained.

"Let's take him outside."

They began walking, each holding Clark under an arm as he went staggering between them.

"Okay. Thank you, Mister Wayne."

"Call me Bruce." He looked at her from her Clark's arm. "You're Lois Lane, right?"

"Yes."

He smiled and nodded to himself. "Superman's weakness."

"Oh, I don't know about that."

Mister Wayne smiled. "At least one of them, I'm sure."

Lois frowned at him. "What makes you think he even has any?"

Wayne shrugged noncommittally. "Even Achilles had his heel."

* * *

 _One week later._

Gotham City Police Commissioner Jim Gordon unlocked his office and entered the darkened room. Street lamps below cast an upward light, piercing the thin gaps between the slats of his blinds and lining the back wall and ceiling. He removed his tan trench coat and draped the collar on a coat rack, his other hand going for the light switch.

Before he could touch it, there was a gentle slap on his desk.

Gordon stiffened and spun around, hand going to his gun.

"Read it." Said a rasping voice from the darkened corner.

Gordon relaxed slightly. "Don't you ever knock?" He berated irritably and picked up the newspaper. Gotham Gazette. Front page. He pulled out his reading glasses. Pushed them on with a finger over the bridge.

 _SUPERMAN FAILS—AGAIN!_

 _Vicki Vale_

 _Senior Reporter_

 _Metropolis residents never thought it would happen the first time. They_ really _didn't think it would happen a second._

 _Just one week after Superman's spectacular failure in apprehending four armed suspects in the heist at Metropolis Natural History Museum that left two security guards wounded and a temporary meteor exhibit stolen, Metropolis City's resident Big Blue seems less like a Man of Steel and more like any old son of man. Videos that captured Superman crumbling like a bag of rocks after a mere gunfight have gone viral in the past two days, garnering a whopping 38 million views worldwide._

 _Is it safe to assume that Superman is losing his laser edge? If so, perhaps Metropolis would like to borrow our fugitive Dark Knight—who has made no prior claim to being from the planet Krypton or any extraterrestrial planetary mass for that matter—to clear common thugs out of the way so Superman can deal with more important and deadlier foes—and not to mention, hog all the glory._

 _Recent events have revealed with painful clarity that Superman's weaknesses lie not in defeating hardened military generals like the late invader Zod, or even obliterating alien terraforming devices, but simply good old-fashion criminals looking for trouble. The universe is not without a strong sense of poetic irony._

 _The perpetrators in the Museum heist are suspected of being connected to the Metropolis crime syndicate, Intergang, which has, in the past, proven to be marginally connected to none other than LexCorp's CEO, Mr. Lex Luthor. Mr. Luthor did not return calls for comment…_

"What do you want me to do?" Gordon asked in a low voice, pulling his reading glasses off. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at the still and silent shadow in his room. Gordon didn't know how the Batman entered his locked office. Sometimes the man was like a dark magician.

"Do you really think Superman can't handle a couple of armed thugs from Intergang?"

Gordon sagged into his chair and shook his head. "No."

"So why can't he?"

"I don't know. Let Metropolis PD handle it."

"No. I want you to bring him to Gotham."

Gordon scoffed. "What, you want me to invite him for a cup of coffee?"

"Something like that. Tell Superman you want him to apprehend the Batman."

Gordon gaped at him incredulously. "You don't seriously think you can outrun Superman."

There was a knock on the door. "Commissioner."

"Really, Gordon. I thought you'd have a little more faith in me."

The door began to open.

Gordon just looked away from Batman for a second. But he was already gone.

"Uh…Commissioner. Why are you sitting in the dark?" Detective Montoya flicked the light switch on. She frowned when she saw the room was empty except for him. She noticed the open window, stared a little too long at it.

Gordon stood. "What are you staring at?"

Montoya looked away from the open window. She gestured to the room. "Were you—talking to yourself?"

"Yeah, I'm rehearsing what I'm going to tell my wife since I'll be working late tonight. That makes all seven nights this week."

"Huh. I hope it's better than what I rehearsed telling _my_ wife when I have to work late."

"Well, good thing for me, I have you."

"Sir?"

Gordon picked up his coat and pulled it over his shoulders. "Detective, will you please call my wife for me? I don't have time to waste arguing with her."

Montoya snickered. "Sure thing. Where are you headed?"

Gordon shook his head like he couldn't believe what he was saying. "Metropolis. Before I go, was there something important you wanted to tell me?"

"Uh, yeah," she replied like it should have been obvious. "Superman went down. Again. Wonder what tomorrow's headline will be."

* * *

 _Author's Note: I was pretty disappointed in Amy Adams as Lois Lane. I don't think it's her fault, though. She was just not cast right. In fact, as far as live action, Lois has never been cast right, in my opinion. And in general, Nolan's superhero movies seem to have poor casting when it comes to the women. Catwoman wasn't right, although I like Anne Hathaway, and neither was Talia Al Ghul, although I loved her in_ Inception _. Anyway, as far as Lois Lane is concerned, I much more prefer the snarky, black-haired, violet-eyed version in_ Superman: The Animated Series.

 _Speaking of which, I got the idea for this chapter from one of the 3-part episodes featured in the_ Series _. The plotline in this chapter very loosely follows that one. It's one of the best episodes ever made, hands down. If you get a chance to watch it, don't pass it up._


	3. Sakura

**Chapter 2 - Sakura**

Sakura Sato was in the zone.

Lieutenant to the Queen of the Shadow Orcs of the land of Ankara, Level 86 Master Shamaness and undefeated for the past two months. Her coal-black, sunken eyes twitched, unblinking, from one portion of the flat-screen LCD computer monitor to another, checking HP, mana, tapping the keyboard rapidly to keep them filled so she could cast her spells and beat back the human rebels. There was one that was battling her right now, a Rogue Knight, level 91, decked out in the famed Pythion Scale armor, wielding the quest item Baal Blood doubled-edged claymore. But his armor and weapons didn't seem to help keep his health up. There was a tiny, glowing red sliver in the health bar over his head.

Sakura flinched as the Claymore sliced through her character. Her Shadow Orc tumbled from knockback, righted herself on her chunky orc legs, plump, green-hued breasts bouncing in a full-body, Black Lilitian Armor. Rapid double tap on the health potion key to drink two simultaneously. Another tap for a mana potion and Sakura the Shadow Orc unleashed her special move—aptly named Blood Bath. And so it was, when red light spun out of her Shamaness in whirling spirals in eight different directions. But because this was a targeted move, the spirals honed in on the Knight and impaled him from all directions, skewering right through him and pulling his blood out of him as they did, along with the last shard of his remaining health.

The spirals brought the blood back to her, pouring over her head like a libation, healing her almost back to full health.

"Noooo!" Someone yelled in another corner of the room, the internet café. " _Chikushō_!"

There was laughter, hooting, howling.

Sakura sat still and watched as the fallen Knight's loot arced out of his corpse as if spring loaded. She collected it calmly with a few clicks of her mouse.

Someone gave her shoulder a congratulatory slap and she went rigid.

"Oh, man, don't touch her," someone said in Japanese. "She doesn't like it."

"Sato, girl, this is for you."

Someone patted down a twenty-dollar bill and Sakura looked down at it with a reptilian vacancy in her eyes.

She went back to playing. She teleported to the town of Ankara and went to the shop.

"Hey, I want that armor," said the guy two seats down, leaning back in his chair to make eye contact with Sakura. "I'll give you a million gold."

"Make it a million and a half," bartered someone else.

But Sakura didn't seem to hear these voices.

"Sato, stop! Don't sell it to the damn merchant! He doesn't pay shit."

Someone grabbed her hand as she clutched the mouse with a sweaty palm and tight, cramping fingers. A strangled cry escaped her lips.

Her other hand went flying into her attacker's face and the guy jumped back.

"Don't touch her, you retard!"

Her attacker put his hands up in surrender and Sakura panted raggedly, trying to calm down. She turned back to the screen, took the mouse in exactly the same way as before, fingers positioned with millimeter precision and made the clicks to sell the Pythion Scale Armor the merchant. She received 400 thousand gold. She sold the Baal Blood claymore for another 250 thousand, and just sat there, watched her character shuffling idly, stretching and yawning while other players bustled around her.

Sakura sat like that for precisely the next two minutes and thirteen seconds. It was how long she'd paid for.

She walked out of the computer café, taking the exact route she'd taken when she entered and gone to the exact same computer, number eleven. There was a chair in her path and it made her stop. Someone who was in the middle of a conversation with another guy was sitting in it and looked up at her, thinking she was butting in on their talk. But Sakura stared straight ahead. The guy in the chair pushed himself to the side a few inches with his sneaker, clearing her path, and Sakura resumed her stiff walking, heading for the exit. The guy in the chair chuckled.

She'd left her twenty dollars behind.

* * *

Outside there were rain puddles, but no rain. This meant she could walk home safely. Sakura carefully measured and sidestepped the bodies of water. She was afraid to disturb them, to distort the neon colors reflected in them. They made her eyes hurt and want to scratch them out.

As she walked with her distinctive, awkward gait, like a toddler teetering on chubby legs, a light brightened the night.

She watched it glow and fluoresce in the puddle at her feet. She stood there stymied, toes facing inward as the light grew and took the shape of a man. His image was upside-down in the puddle, hovering there an inverted, angelic white Superman. His arms were out to the sides, rays of light rippling behind him. That's when she noticed he was made of glowing metal, some type of highly reflective, luminescent material. "Find me," he said.

The man-shaped light vanished abruptly and something smacked into the puddle of water at her feet. Ice cold droplets seared her bare shins. The reflected neon lights began to go crazy, wiggling and distorting and quaking, epileptic. It was so unpleasant that she could almost hear it, it was like her eyes could hear what they were seeing and it hurt. It hurt so bad. Sakura started screaming.


	4. Green Gold

**Chapter 3 - Green Gold**

 _SUPERMAN TO ASSIST GOTHAM CITY PD IN CAPTURE OF GOTHAM'S MOST WANTED?_

 _Lois Lane_

 _Senior Reporter_

 _Daily Planet_

 _FUCK BATMAN. SUPERMAN RULES._

 _That is the aggressive assertion on a local man's T-shirt as he stands at the front steps of Metropolis Police Department HQ. He's not the only one._

 _Commissioner Jim Gordon of the Gotham City Police Department, a tired-looking man of apparent good conscience and intent, gestures for calm. But the questions begin shooting out of the crowd. Actually, it's just one question. And it's not for the commissioner. In fact, it's for the man standing next to him, his black hair and red cape flowing in the light breeze as he hovers weightless a few feet off the ground. Everyone wants to hear the Kryptonian's answer to the question of the century: Will Superman capture Batman?_

* * *

Max had never seen so much security in his life.

After the guards out front frisked him from head to toe, searching for weapons of any kind, they pulled a pistol, ammo, a knife and a cell-phone. They checked his wallet and saw two dollar bills, some gray lint and an exclusive invitation card, made of black and gold emboss. There was nothing written on it. Just a symbol of a shield. The only thing missing was a cavity search. Max smiled anxiously as they tossed his effects into a bin after disassembling it. They kept the invitation. They slammed him up against the wall and said, "You a cop?"

Max's eyes widened. "Hell, no!" His voice cracked. He was only eighteen, how could they mistake him for a cop?

They let him go, and Max thought he would collapse from relief. He wiped his fuzzy upper lip and looked at his gun. Then his heart sank a little bit—the pistol was the only piece he owned. Paid for it with his own money and everything. "I need my gun back."

"Another word and you'll get the back of my fist. Get in or get lost."

Max sulked as he and went in, decided not to push his luck. He had, after all, not been invited. He'd just stolen the card out of a guy's stuff at the hotel where he worked as a skycap and as a low level spy for Intergang.

Max's jaw dropped a little at what he saw. There, sitting in the middle of the large carpeted hall, surrounded by huge guys with automatic rifles, was the thing everyone was calling green gold. It was a big-ass rock, like a boulder. It glowed dangerously, and Max felt more inclined to keep away from the menacing glow than he did those dudes with guns. Something about the green gold—it gave him a bad feeling.

But he could already see people wearing it with their power suits and sleek emerald dresses—gems in rings, in brass knuckles, necklaces, earrings, studs, even in their teeth instead of diamonds. Everyone was showing off their newfound resistance to Superman. It was a symbol of power and/or absolute badassery.

Here was the thing—nobody had any idea about its real value until Superman came into the picture. Even without Superman around, something this rare, something from friggin' _outer space_ , was worth millions to the private collector. But after the fellas from Intergang that carried out the heist in the first place talked about how Superman couldn't even fight back, started _bleeding_ when he was shot, well, no one believed them. It just sounded like a load of bullshit, Superman bleeding. Get outta here. The guy was bulletproof and here were four fools all telling the same story. Eventually, the news got out. The damn media showed surveillance videos that just proved what those dudes were talking about.

That was when the mad rush began. People buying chunks of the meteorite, throwing cash, girls, guns, drugs, whatever the price. The huge chunk once thought to be worth millions, was now estimated by news panel guests and the FBI to be in the _billions_.

As for Max, if he was lucky he'd be able to buy a fraction of an ounce of meteorite dust. He just came to see the rock for himself, up close. But now he was chickenshit. The thing freaked him out. Something like that wasn't harmless. It couldn't be. Fucking glowing, radioactive looking outer space boulder. He wouldn't go within twenty feet of that, he knew now, he'd keep his distance. Stay along the edges of this hall the whole night. He might have been broke, but even if he had the money, he wasn't going to buy any of it. If it could bring Superman to his knees, what the hell could it do to him?

"Ladies and gentleman, please take your seats." A thin man with an angular face said on the microphone. He waited while the murmuring guests quieted down. "Ladies and gentleman, bidding tonight starts at ten grand for the first ounce." The auctioneer gently tapped a hammer and people began holding up paddles.

"Okay, here we go, ten for the lovely lady in black here, eleven for the man over there, twelve for the lady with paddle number thirteen. And thirteen it is for the gentleman, can I hear a fourteen from miss thirteen? And yes, fourteen it is to her, thank you, miss, do I hear fifteen? Yes sir, fifteen to the gentleman, do I hear sixteen, Miss Thirteen? And yes I do, sir? Do you dare seventeen? And yes—Oh it's eighteen to the miss. Sir, do I hear eighteen-five, sir? Yes, here we go. Nineteen from the woman in black. Nineteen-five from the gentleman. The auctioneer paused and looked at the woman. She stroked her shoulder like she was petting a cat and the auctioneer shrugged a pointy shoulder and asked with an amused smile, "Twenty from the lady in black?"

Max moved around the hall to get a better look at her face. She glanced at the man bidding against her. She lowered her gaze bashfully. Then smiled. "Too rich for my blood."

The man's jaw dropped. He glared at the woman, then the auctioneer, cursed under his breath. The auctioneer kept a straight face, but Max was sure he saw him smile a little. "Sir, if you'll please step to the room over there, you'll receive your portion of tonight's jewel."

The woman smiled to herself, head down and thumbed her glossy black fingernails. "Sorry, kitten," she said. She stood up and left the rows of seats and approached the man who had just outbid her. She leaned down in her black dress, giving Max a great view for later tonight when he was alone, stretching out the weird leathery material she was wearing. This was one classy chick. Wearing tight-ass leather and she didn't look the least bit trashy. She angled her foot in a three-inch gem-encrusted stiletto and whispered in the man's ear. He looked at her, down her cleavage and she winked at him. Max watched as the woman took his arm and they began walking to where he'd collect his piece of the rock.

"I didn't catch your name, sweetheart."

It's Miss Kyle."

"Oh, excuse _me_."

"It's quite all right, darling." She patted his arm. Looked down and stopped. She said curiously, "Say, weren't you wearing a bracelet?"

The man looked down at his wrist and he stopped. "Yeah." He whirled around to search the ground. "I must have dropped it."

"Please, let me help you look," she said graciously and turned back around.

"Thanks, Miss Kyle."

"You're welcome, dearest. Rotten luck, isn't it? To lose another twenty-thousand on a lovely bracelet like that?"

"You're tellin' me. But there's a lot more where that came from."

"Mmm. Is that so?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Let 'em have it. They probably need it more than I do, am I right?"

She smiled, pearly whites catching the light from the chandeliers. "Rich, generous, devilishly handsome—you don't lack for anything, do you?" She brushed the back of her hand up against his groin, just for a second, making him freeze in midstride.

When he recovered he gave a bewildered grin and said, "Maybe Superman's head on a plate."

That's when all the lights went out.

* * *

The meteorite fluoresced that sick-looking green. Green light fell off it in waves, like a water fall.

There was a loud beating cloth above, a deep whoosh. Automatic rifle muzzles began to flash like strobe lights. Max planted himself flat against the wall, behind a pillar, and stared paralyzed at a black shadow as it flew down right into the gunfire. There was a loud grunt as the shadow's boot heel connected with a guy's jaw.

Cries of pain as people were caught in the crossfire. The doors burst open and anyone that could run away, did, women hiking up dresses, pulling off their heels. The Batman cleared a room faster than a drug raid. Even if the guy was Gotham City's Most Wanted.

Max tried fighting his way out too. But someone shoved him. Max went down and got trampled like a rug. No one even tried to help him up.

By the time the stampede was over, Max was a bloody, bruised mess on the ground. The barrel of guns and weapons taken from guests was knocked over, spilling out cell phones and all kinds of junk that could be used as weapons. Max picked up a cell phone and dialed 911. He looked down at his left arm and it looked like it was shaped weird. Maybe it was broken.

Max dragged himself up and pressed into a corner under a table.

"Metropolis, 911, what is your emergency?"

"He's here," Max whispered in a pinched voice as he watched the Batman lift a man clear off the floor. It was the auctioneer.

"Who is, sir?"

"The Batman."

"Stay on the line. I'm sending police right now."

Max watched as Batman dragged the auctioneer toward a side door—a stairwell. The man started screaming bloody murder and the Batman punched him in the face twice. _Boom. Boom._ The man went limp.

Batman tossed the guy over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

Then he dropped a couple of canisters, about half the size of a 12 oz of beer. They both began to hiss. Max' jaw dropped open when he saw the green gold melting away from the gas, like getting eaten away, melting from the display stand. Eventually even the stand crumbled. The gas spread fast, and began to get on Max' skin. He breathed it by mistake and his throat began to burn. It was some kind of acid and his eyes began to burn. He wanted to leave, but the Batman would see him if he moved.

Max shrank even smaller, trying not to be seen, pulled his shirt collar over his mouth and nose. But it was too late. The Batman noticed the glowing cell phone, the panting, the coughing, the groaning.

Max tried to compress himself into a smaller fetal cube, but there was nowhere for him to go. The Batman reached down and snatched the phone from him. Checked the screen. Tossed it back on the floor without disconnecting the call. When Max picked up the phone and looked back up, the Batman had vanished. So had the auctioneer.

* * *

"Please, I don't know anything," the auctioneer wailed. "Please, let me go."

Batman had dragged him up to the rooftop, tied him to a pole. Thunder rolled in the distance. "Storm's coming."

The auctioneer realized where he was, restrained to a grounding pole, and a scream of horror escaped his lips. "Please! I just do as I'm told, I don't know anything. Please, I don't want to die."

"Where is the rest of the rock?"

Lightning flashed far away and thunder growled. The storm was approaching fast. Rain began to spatter the auctioneer's face, mixing with tears of desperation. "Please, let me go."

"Who did you give it to?"

"I don't know, please! I don't want to die."

Sirens whined in the distance. There wasn't much time left.

Batman's next words burst out of him with fury. " _WHERE'S THE REST OF IT?!"_

Batman checked the sky, but all he saw were flashes of lightning. Thunder barked and the auctioneer flinched violently. Blood leaked from his split lip. "Please, let me go. I'll tell you. Her name is Mercedes. It was sold to her at a private negotiation. Two million, pure cash."

There were only seconds left now. The cop cars stopped outside the building. The police would be up here any moment.

Batman checked the sky again, and rain drummed against his cowl. Time to get out of here.

He leapt over the side of the building as the auctioneer screamed behind him. "Let me go!"

But Batman didn't have to. He was tied to a flagpole all along.

As for the person he was waiting for, he never showed.

* * *

 _QUESTION OF THE CENTURY? HERE'S ONE FOR THE MILLENIUM_

 _Vicki Vale_

 _Senior Reporter_

 _Gotham Gazette_

Where is Superman?


	5. Find Me

_Author's Note: Please remember that I will update AT LEAST once a week, and if you don't see an update all week, there will be one by Sunday 11:59 PM, EST. I recommend putting the story on your alerts list._

* * *

 **Chapter 4 – Find Me**

When Kenji was leaving the computer café, just minutes after Sakura, he found her outside, screaming, beating her head with both fists. He'd been telling people to keep their hands off her all night and here he was, splashing through the puddles of frigid water and grabbing her hands.

Sakura shrieked like she was being stabbed and Kenji caught a couple of good hits in his jaw. He was totally the wrong person for this. He'd had chemo just three days ago and he was still very weak. He wasn't even supposed to be out. He thought he'd pass out from this tiny bit of exercise.

"Calm down!" He shouted at her in Japanese. At the hospital, he'd seen her nurses do this a couple of times, take her arms and cross them over her chest, holding them in place by standing behind her. Sometimes it was the only way to keep her from hitting herself, if soft restraints weren't available.

Kenji's heart palpitated in his chest and he held Sakura there as she bucked in his grip. "Calm down, calm down," he begged her. "Please, calm down."

He held her as still as he could. His pale, skinny arms began to tremble and he was already sweating like crazy.

Sakura calmed down eventually, a keening settling in her throat instead of the horrible banshee shriek she was making earlier.

Panting lightly, Kenji noticed the thin white object, like a communion wafer, but larger, lying in the puddle in front of Sakura. She was staring at it intently, even though she was sagging in his arms.

He slowly let her go, letting her right herself and stand on her own. She didn't move.

He breathed a sigh of relief, brushed his hand over his bald head. If the two of them were caught out of the hospital, there could be serious problems. And he'd probably end up getting the blame for her sneaking out. Sakura wasn't exactly known for being a ninja, but people had no idea. She was high-functioning autistic, and smart as hell. She was patient, precise and quiet as any capable ninja. The only thing she didn't know was the martial arts stuff. Hell, maybe she knew it, but couldn't execute it with her brain the way it was.

He tried to lead her away, coaxing her to follow like he would a hesitant cat, but she wouldn't look away from the object. He knelt down and picked it up, disturbing the water. All hell broke loose again. He quickly pocketed the item, cursed and went through the whole process again. Restraining her, calming her down. He felt utterly drained by the time she was finished. Kenji's legs shook and he had to sit down a minute.

Eventually, though, he had to get up and go. If he could have his way, he would have laid down right there on the street and gone to sleep. The worst part about the chemo wasn't even the throwing up or the hair falling out. He just hated how tired he was all the damn time. No matter how much sleep he got or how much Red Bull he snuck in, he never had enough energy.

Kenji walked her to the hospital. She was actually in a different ward than he was. There was no reason he'd ever meet her there, except for the fact that for some strange reason she enjoyed playing _Uprising_ at the computer café just like he did. Go figure. The girl was a total mystery and he did kind of dig it. Made life more interesting than bed rest, IVs, and vomit buckets.

Once they were through the lobby of the hospital, they had to sneak past the security window, then they were free to go their separate ways. He knew she knew the way, but now he felt sort of responsible for her. Like an older brother. But then he gave himself a mental shake. What the hell was he thinking? Like he was some damn hero. She _could_ talk when she wanted. Sometimes he swore she did the things she did because people showed her attention. She craved human contact and at the same time couldn't stand being touched. She was a walking paradox.

When he arrived at the elevators, he made sure to wipe all the droplets of water away with the hem of his T-shirt. The thing was not as flat as it had looked lying in the puddle. It was egg-shaped, completely smooth. Smoother than an actual egg. Made of some kind of pure white metal. Not painted, but the metal itself was white, whiter than silver. He'd never seen anything like it, and Sakura was fascinated by it. She kept staring at it, but not directly. Just using her peripherals.

"You want this?"

She didn't answer.

"Say you want it. I'll give it to you."

To a stranger it might have looked like he was taunting her in the cruelest way, taunting someone who couldn't even talk, but that wasn't true. He actually felt guilty even though he knew it wasn't true. She was pretty mischievous, like a little kid. Wouldn't talk if you let her get away with not talking.

"Come on, otherwise it's going back into my pocket." He pretended he was going to put it back inside. She was looking at him directly, like usual. But she could see everything he was doing. "Okay, here it goes, back inside my pocket." He touched the opening.

"Find me," she said suddenly.

Kenji chuckled. "Close enough, I guess."

"Find me. Find me. Find me."

"Whoa, calm down. Let's not freak out again, okay?"

"Find me."

He held out the egg to her and she slowly raised her hand, still not looking directly at it and took it from his hand like she was plucking a tulip.

"See you later." He said as she entered the elevator after it opened fully. She stepped carefully over the crack, one foot at a time, like a little kid that wasn't really sure how to climb stairs.

"Say goodbye, Sakura. Be polite."

She was still facing the back wall of the elevator. She would back out when she arrived at the right floor. "Good bye."

* * *

She'd been staring at the egg ever since she got back. Never stopped except when her nurse fed her or made her go to the bathroom. Her most familiar nurse, Angela, picked up the egg to look at it, put it back down on the wider end. But that was the wrong way. Sakura knew. The egg slowly shifted, turning on its tip. The tip was several times heavier than the wider base.

"Where did you get this?" Angela asked suspiciously. "Have you been sneaking out again?"

Sakura didn't answer.

"Where did you get it?" Angela picked it up again.

"Find me."

"I guess you mean you found it. Is that what you mean?"

"Find me."

"Or it found you?"

Sakura didn't answer. Angela sat with her, took her hand gently, held it. Sakura stroked her knuckles gently with her thumb, a ritualistic movement, but one that obviously gave Sakura comfort.

Eventually Sakura let Angela's hand go. She folded her hands in her lap and stared into space, keeping the egg it the edge of her field of vision.

Angela left her alone, because it was almost time for bed. She'd come back later to get her changed. Weaving around the maze of easels Sakura had built, arranged with respect to size, Angela left, careful not to disrupt the orderly room.

Sakura's paintbrushes were arranged neatly on a desk, all by themselves. On another desk there were colors, arranged in a perfect color wheel, a perfect circle. All the paintings Sakura made were of intricate objects, wires, connections, electrical panels, and the like. They were multicolored in an abnormal, but beautiful way. Threads of shiny hot pink blending with banana yellow, orange meringue. It was so intricately perfect, Angela was always in awe of her.

Sakura barely noticed her leave.

She sat mesmerized by the egg, keeping it at the edge of her vision, watching it swirl with an iridescence no one else noticed. It was so subtle to everyone else, but to Sakura it couldn't have been more obvious. The swirls of colors were not meaningless. There was a pattern, minute reoccurring symbols, glyphs and mathematical diagrams. Sakura turned the egg, engrossed in its design, trying to understand it. She'd never seen anything like it before, but it clicked in her mind immediately.

Angela came in within the hour, and got Sakura ready for bed.

Sakura complied without a fuss, enthralled with the egg. She placed it by her bedside table without assistance from Angela, keeping it at a certain angle so she could continue to see the patterns.

Angela was delighted with her calmness, but couldn't help feeling a twinge of apprehension. Anything that wasn't normal behavior—normal for her patient of four years—was cause for anxiety. It was probably nothing. Anything that kept Sakura so calm was a good thing. God knew they could always use more calm days.

Sakura lay in the darkness after Angela left, closing the door behind her.

"Find me," Sakura whispered.

She sat up in bed and touched the egg at ten different, precise points. Applied equal pressure.

It awakened.

So did she.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ Uprising _is not a real computer game._


	6. Greetings, Earthling

_Author's Note: Sorry for the freakishly short chapter. I should have added this at the end of the previous one._

* * *

 **Chapter 5 – Greetings, Earthling**

Sakura's eyes widened when the object in her hand gently pulled away and split into 100 tiny, slightly curved panels. They were connected by hair-like, bright white filaments. Fascinated by the connections and geometric patterns they made, Sakura sat up in bed. She could do nothing but watch.

The panels joined back together to form another object all together—a box with a lens. It floated to the floor and projected the image of the glowing man. He was tall; 78 inches. He stood in front of her, a slightly translucent hologram. His face was a pale green. Three diodes pulsed with pink on his bald head. "Greetings, Earthling."

Sakura just stared.

"I am Brainiac."

"Find me."

"Yes. That was the message contained in all of my probes. But before I explain my purposes in initiating contact, I must first warn you about the Kryptonian in your midst."

Sakura stared mutely.

Brainiac continued, "Kal-El is going to attack."


	7. His Return

_Author's Note: I know I didn't mention this before, but I can't seriously entertain the idea of Jesse Eisenberg as Lex Luthor. I mean come on. It's ridiculous. Anyway, I looked online for other like-minded individuals, and read one YouTube comment that said Billy Zane would be a good choice. I had totally not even considered that guy. Never crossed my mind. And if you don't know who that is, it's the millionaire arrogant douchbag from_ Titanic _who gives Rose Dawson the heart-shaped blue diamond. And I look up some videos of him and I thought, "Holy crap. This guy is_ perfect _." Anyway, I've decided that he's the version of Lex I'm writing, okay?_

 _And again, I recommend adding this story to your Alerts List, because I do update during the week and not just on Sundays._

* * *

 **His Return**

The eleventh floor window was open. Batman slipped inside quietly, his cape hardly making a sound. But these days, that didn't mean he couldn't be heard. His very breath made noise, the blinking of his eyes, the forming of a fist.

He scanned the living room and adjoining kitchen, looking for signs of life, like dirty dishes in the sink. Empty take-out containers on the counter. Garbage that needed throwing out. Mail on the coffee table. But there was nothing. The place was immaculate.

There were packed cardboard boxes at the edges of the room, stacked around the furniture. The resident of this apartment had moved in recently, as early as one or two months ago.

Batman's eyes went to the front door. It, too, was locked, but that's not what caught his eye. It was that the security chain and deadbolt were both on. And if Batman's suspicions were correct, it wasn't for security reasons at all. But for privacy. As if the current resident did not want people to enter the apartment in his absence, even if someone had a key. Eleventh floor apartment. Front door chained and deadbolted. Empty apartment. Seemed like a magic act. Unless of course, the magician could fly.

Batman proceeded further inside.

He swept through the bathroom. Collected hair samples from a brush, strands with roots attached. Noticed soot at the edge of the sink, like it hadn't been cleaned away properly. Batman frowned, perplexed. Then collected that too. He'd have to do tests on these later. Compare it to samples from the Museum.

The smaller bedroom, which was used as a home office, a place of expected chaos, was neat. A press ID card, wallet and keys were left on the table. Balled up pieces of paper were responsibly tossed in the trash receptacle. Scribbled notes were neatly filed away under a folder entitled _Notes_. Printed article drafts were organized in a rack.

Batman pulled out a sheaf of these papers. Each one was dated and arranged chronologically. The latest date was from eight days ago. He put the papers back after a quick look.

He started going through the drawers. Found bills that were due in a day or two. Not for lack of money, or responsibility—based on a file of bank statements—but simply because he was gone. Batman found nothing of significant interest.

Until he came to drawer that was locked. A few moments with a lock-picking set and it was open. Batman looked down at the otherworldly, shiny white object. It looked like an egg.

* * *

Dr. Victor Hammond was a slight man with glasses, pasty white skin and a balding head. He peered through a microscope, observing the effects of green meteorite on a slide of unique blood cells. This sample had been suffering only five minutes of amplified exposure, and the cells were becoming atrophied, sickly. Some had eventually ruptured. The blood sample had been collected from the Metropolis Museum of Natural History by investigators. Subsequently it had been snuck out of the police department's evidence room. It belonged to Superman.

Dr. Hammond looked up at the business man standing in his lab. He was tall, imposing and wearing a charcoal gray Armani suit. His healthy tan and trim waist showed a man who frequently engaged in athletic activity. His dark green eyes were piercing, revealing a haughty intelligence.

"Well?" The businessman asked with disturbing eagerness.

"That makes seventy-one percent of all the blood samples collected at the museum. All the _human_ blood samples have been verified against the FBI DNA database. When the samples of known Intergang affiliates were tested, they did not react to the meteorite's gamma radiation. At least, not in any way that we can detect."

The businessman smiled. He put out his right hand. On his middle finger he was wearing a hand-crafted gold ring with a bright, glowing green gem. Black market Liaoning meteorite. "I think I did the right thing hiring you, Doctor."

Dr. Hammond reluctantly shook his hand. He was afraid of what might happen to him if he didn't. It wasn't like Hammond went looking to work for Luthor. His employer, S.T.A.R. Labs, had been paid off to fire him from his post as Assistant Director. And when they did, Luthor swooped in and picked up him. Hammond tried to pull his hand away, but Luthor didn't let him. "Mr. Luthor, I don't recommend wearing the—"

"Let me know when you learn more about the Kryptonian's blood."

"Sir, I—"

"Any man that kills the only other remaining members of his own race can't be trusted."

"Mr. Luthor."

"Yes?"

"Please let go of my hand."

Mr. Luthor let it go.

Dr. Hammond released a sigh of relief. "I don't recommend wearing the meteorite as jewelry. We don't know its effects on humans."

Luthor gave him a patronizing pat on the shoulder. He smiled. "Dr. Hammond, you'll soon learn that the only thing that matters is its effect on Superman."

* * *

"Here you are, Master Bruce."

"Thank you, Alfred."

"It's a list of all the Chinese families who managed to procure a shard of the meteorite in the eighties when it fell. The precise date of its impact is well-documented in the local newspapers and some international ones. It began at approximately 2:21 a.m., local time, on the morning of March 12th, 1982."

Batman flipped through the pages. His suspicions were quickly confirmed. "Cancer."

"Yes, Sir. The Liaoning Meteorite appears to be carcinogenic to humans after long periods of continuous exposure."

"But not for Superman. He's much more sensitive to it."

"Yes, Master Bruce. Have you confirmed your theory as to Clark Kent being Superman?"

"Not yet."

* * *

He'd snuck home that night. He'd waited until the earth had turned its western face from the sun. Waited until the moon was a massive black orb in the earth's shadow. No one would see him, a phantom descending from the sky.

No one could know he was back. And no one could know he'd tried to run away. But he couldn't, because he couldn't fight it anymore. It was not weakness that made him flee. It was not weakness that made him seek out a sun that could kill him.

It was weakness that brought him back.

There was little he could remember with clarity. His memories were ghosts in a fog. Present, but obscured. And, with indifference, he realized his memories didn't matter. They never had. Nothing he ever did mattered. It was all in vain. Why let his memories cloud his true purpose? He wanted them gone. He craved the numbness of being mindless. He wanted to forget completely.

But under the comfortable, soothing assurance that everything in the universe was meaningless, his memories scratched at his psyche, clawing like a living man in a buried coffin, desperate for air, desperate for sustenance, to get out and be free. To _live._ To _exist_. To _be._

His entire body trembled as he sat slumped in the chair. His head was between his knees, his hands clenched in his overgrown black hair. He saw a blinking red light in the corner of his eye. An answering machine. A concept he understood, but which now felt alien, out-of-body.

He reached out. Pressed _Play._

 _You have forty-eight new messages. Message One. Tuesday, 5:45 pm._ "Hey, Smallville, why didn't you show up for work? Check in with Chief. He's been giving me hell all day."

 _Message Two. Tuesday, 7:56 pm._ "Clark, you were supposed to meet me for dinner. Figures you'd be a no-show after not calling in so many hours. Call me back."

 _Message Three. Tuesday, 11:35 pm._ "You're beginning to freak me out."

 _Message Four. Wednesday, 2:11 am._ "Clark, please give me a call as soon as you get this. I'll be there first thing in the morning."

 _Message Five. Wednesday, 7: 13 am._ "Okay, I'm at your door leaving this message and I can hear it echoing on your answering machine. Damn it, Clark, where are you?"

 _Message Six. Wednesday, 10:33 am._ "Clark, honey, it's your mom. Where are you? Lois called, she sounds worried. I know you can take care of yourself, but… please call me. Please, don't make me worry."

 _Message Seven. Wednesday, 1:24 pm._ "Clark, please call me. Lois is at the house. She has her cell phone. We're going looking for you. Please call her cell when you get this message. I love you, honey— _we_ love you."

 _Message Eight. Wednesday 7:31 pm._ "Clark, your mother's a mess. I can't believe I'm saying this, but we're going to file a missing person report…"

His knee began to bounce. His hands tightened in his hair and they began to pluck out by the roots, each strand sending a bolt of agony through his skull. The more time that went by, the harder it was to resist it. The pain was excruciating. Only when he complied with his dark side, was he at peace. He surrendered in drips and drabs, just to keep the pain at bay.

He raised his head, his unshaven face set in determination. His eyes glowed red, then orange in the darkened living room. Tiny veins pulsing under the skin of his eyes like threads of super-heated steel.

 _Message Nine. Thursday 1:09 am._ "Clark—"

He stood up, watched the small black box, eyes brightening into pools of plasma. Fire spewed out of his eyes like lava.

The plastic began to sizzle, melt, liquefying into acrid, smelly oil in seconds, dripping onto the rug with a hiss of protest. His eyes dimmed to the color of amber coals.

The vaguely familiar voices stopped. He expected silence, but it never came. A voice continued on. Now, it was the only one that mattered. Wicked whisperings settled inside his ears, swirled in his skull. Every thought of hope and desire was cut down like an unwanted weed.

But he couldn't forget. He'd made a promise. And he had to find him before he ran out of time. The vigilante obviously had no problem with killing.

* * *

Batman watched the screen as it happened.

The phone rang.

Batman picked up. "Lucius."

"Mister Wayne, the samples match. It's him."

"I know." Batman hung up.


	8. Egg Hunt

**Egg Hunt**

"I've never seen anything like this," conceded Lucius Fox, CEO of Wayne Enterprises. He looked as baffled and disconcerted as Bruce felt. Lucius also looked exhausted, about ten years old than he really was.

They were examining the egg Batman had stolen from Clark Kent's apartment.

Lucius had been studying it for the past two days. The object had captivated his undivided attention and intrigued him so much he hadn't even shaved or bathed. The old man smelled of freshly reapplied deodorant and bad breath masked by coffee. His tie was tossed over the back of the chair, the top couple of buttons of his shirt undone and hanging open. He stretched his back and groaned as he sat in the chair. He gestured Bruce over. He adjusted the settings and knobs on the microscope and leaned back. "Take a look. Watch that ink around your eyes."

Bruce, still wearing the Batsuit, but not the cowl, leaned in and studied the surface of the egg, careful not to get ink residue on the eye piece. Under the magnified egg's, shell-like sheen, there were microscopic gray pores evenly spaced along the surface. "What are those?"

Lucius had set up a quick PowerPoint presentation. He tapped a couple of keys on the laptop, stood and dimmed the lights. "A great white shark can detect a single drop of blood in an Olympic-sized pool. In other words, one part per twenty-five million. Pretty darn sensitive, wouldn't you say?" He pressed a key on the laptop. The slide switched and showed a diagram of a shark, showing the cross-section of a nasal passage. "As it swims, water passes through these holes on either side of its snout, called nares, and washes over this organ, which has extensive folding, and therefore increased surface area." He clicked to the next slide. They were photographed images of the egg's interior examined with sonar. It was safer than X-rays, where they didn't know if the radiation would cause problems with the advanced technology inside the space egg. "This egg is mimicking the function of a nare. It can detect blood. Actually, it's calibrated to detect Kryptonian blood. It…tracked Superman, if you will."

Bruce frowned at the egg.

Lucius continued. "This egg has an estimated one million microscopic fibers, which act like the nare organ, but that's not all they do. They behave like a nervous system, a circulatory system, and even an endocrine system, all in one." Each time he clicked the laptop mouse and it switched, highlighting different parts of the egg. "There's just one problem."

Bruce looked at Lucius. "I don't see a brain."

Lucius chuckled. "That's exactly right, Mister Wayne."

"If it doesn't have a brain, how does it function?"

Lucius smiled at the tiny marvel. "Oh, it has a brain all right. We just can't see it."

* * *

The eggs had started falling long before Sakura ever found hers.

There was talk of these eggs everywhere. A worldwide phenomenon had begun. And the US government was keeping a very close eye on everything people were saying.

* * *

"Okay, so, I'm making this video because—One, I was bored, and two, I found this really freaky-looking thing the other day."

"All right, here we are, here's the thingamabob I found about two days ago. I was just walking my dog, and he was getting ready to take a shit when this thing fell right next to him and actually frightened the _shit_ out of him—"

"I hear this is the only one of these things that landed here, down under. So, let me know what you think, if you've found one. Once again, I'm Nicholas from Sydney Australia, signing off."

"Hello, my name is Sneha, from Hyderabad, India—"

"This is the first video I've ever made, sorry for the sound, but I just found this thing—"

"I found this—"

"…Just the other day, I found something you might find interesting…"

"It's just an egg."

"It's an egg."

"…An egg."

"Time for the grand reveal of suspected alien technology. Yeah. Yup, it's a fucking egg."

* * *

There were already others scrambling for these things. Based on a top secret list of private buyers a CIA taskforce had managed to compile, Chinese, Iranians, Russians, and closer to home, none other than Lex Luthor himself, it had become obvious even to the simplest minds that this technology did not originate on earth.

Bruce Wayne was not on this list because, of course, he'd stolen his.

When the Kryptonian terraforming device had been destroyed, labs and government facilities scooped up all the parts in order to study them and learn from the advanced technology. These eggs were no different. And people were offering descriptions, theories, ideas and conspiracies that could explain this hail of eggs. The CIA taskforce compiled everything in a 400-page report. And the report was still growing.

* * *

"Uh—it's a bit shiny, like a hummingbird or something, incandescent—iridescent, I think is the word—"

"…I can see markings when I look at it at an angle…"

"…Rather strange, doesn't look like any language I've ever seen on Earth, and I'm a linguistics professor at Oxford. A student wanted me to take a look…"

"…I'm outside, and I think I can see the writing better in the sun..."

"Have no idea what it means, looks like symbols or something. I didn't even know it was there until a few days ago, until I started watching other people's videos—"

"…Don't know who's behind all this…"

"Wonder who's behind it…"

"It's probably some government hoax."

"The Chinese."

"The Russians."

"The Koreans. They probably think we Americans are total idiots."

"The Islamic radicals aren't this creative."

"Worldwide social experiment."

"Maybe, it's got to do with Superman."

"Superman's an alien. Maybe there are others out there. This doesn't look similar to the Kryptonian technology we saw on the news, you know, the Terraformer. It's totally different. Doesn't look as evil. Actually looks pretty cute, like a Tamagotchi. Remember those?"

"I just keep expecting to see Made In China somewhere on here. Haha. Wouldn't it be crazy if aliens were already getting ninety percent of their imports from China?"

"I think it's got something to do with Superman."

"Superman, where is he?"

"He goes missing and these eggs starting turning up?"

"These eggs began falling and _then_ he disappeared. Or was it the other way around?"

"What about the meteor exhibit that was stolen and he couldn't do anything about it?"

"It's all connected."

"Which came first, Superman or the egg?"

* * *

"Mister Wayne, if you'll take a look at this screen, here's global map of all the locations where these eggs were discovered, the ones where people have declared to have found one of them. Notice anything strange?"

Bruce nodded. "Major metropolitan areas."

"Yes. Hong Kong, London, Glasgow, Sydney, Mumbai, Los Angeles, Moscow—the list goes on. In all, there are ninety-eight genuine eggs reported, all over the world, including the one you found at Mister Kent's apartment. And with technology being the way it is, with news outlets reporting these eggs all over the world, with people offering millions of dollars for the ownership of one of these eggs, I think it's safe to assume that ninety-eight is quite close to being the total. Based on some of the identifying markings I've been able to notice through the videos and images, I think we're short just two."

"Why would someone keep it a secret?"

"I don't know."

* * *

It was going to be a long night.

The crowd sat restlessly in the muggy heat along the shaded bleachers in NYC's Central Park. It was almost like it was raining under the performance tent. Shirts and shorts were soaked with moisture from the sheer humidity.

But the show must always go on. Barda Free wasn't even out under the spotlights and sweat already dotted her skin, making her blue and gold skirted bikini stick like a second layer of suffocating skin. She glanced over at her partner, Shilo, standing next to her behind the curtain. He was dressed in the Mr. Miracle costume, but only out of necessity. Her husband, Scott Free, had been missing for almost two weeks. Shilo was Scott's understudy, his student. No one in the audience could have ever known they weren't going to witness the true Mr. Miracle. Shilo was a similar body-type, build, height, and even his escapist skills were phenomenal. The only difference was that instead of Scott's pale blue, dazzling eyes peering out at her from behind eye-black, it was Shilo's chocolate-brown ones.

"Stop worrying about Scott," Shilo said from under the mask.

"I can't."

"Ladies and gentleman, it is my esteemed pleasure to present to you now, the strongest woman to ever walk this earth. She holds the record of second place in the _men's_ weight lifting category of 1023 pounds. Folks, that comes out to almost half a ton! She's big, she's bad, she's drop-dead gorgeous at seven feet tall, 201 pounds, and here she is, the Giantess and Strong Woman of Greenwich Village, Biiiiig Bardaaaaaaa!"

Barda forced a big grin that made her cheeks ache and swept into view when the curtains parted. Her oiled muscles gleamed and squirmed under the spotlights; glittering make-up sparkled like diamond dust on her cheeks and eyelids. She flexed for the cheering crowd, showing off every lean, striated muscle writhing under her skin. She waved to an enormous contraption made of black-painted steel and two assistants entered the arena. They were carrying weights between them, straining visibly.

An assistant appeared, a perky, petite young blonde in a sparkling blue and gold outfit that matched Barda's.

Barda lifted the pretty girl by the underarms, then balanced her feet in her hands like she weighed no more than a twig. The girl set some pins into the device while the male assistants set up the weights.

"As you can see the white numbers on the weights, folks, this all adds up to a solid five-hundred pounds! Am I right fellas?" The announcer asked the men. They mimed wiping sweat from their brows and flashed thumbs up to the audience.

Barda pulled on the handle with one finger. Five hundred pounds slid weightlessly upward. Barda yawned for the audience. Lowered the weight and let it drop the last two inches. It made the ground quake. The audience roared.

The two males reappeared, carrying another five-hundred pounds.

"More weight?" The announcer asked the audience.

They cheered, "Yeah!"

They loaded it up, which Barda lifted again with ease, this time with both hands.

"More weight?" The announcer egged the crowd on.

The audience cheered.

Barda made a bring-it-on with her left hand.

This time four guys came out from behind the curtain, carrying an additional thousand pounds.

"Now, make no mistake, folks, Barda is going to lift almost one metric ton. Hmm, but let's make things a little more interesting, shall we?" The announcer mused. "Please welcome the splendid, talented, brilliant Mister Miracle once again, folks!"

Shilo came into view and the audience cheered. He flourished for the audience. Then he showed two items—a hook and a turning tool. He pulled up his sleeves to show he had nothing else, pulled them back down.

"How 'bout those gloves, Mister?" The announcer said in teasing voice.

Shilo mimed impatience, folding his arms over his chest and tapping his foot. He put the tools in his mouth. Then he shrugged, pulled his gloves off and tossed them on the ground. He wiggled his fingers with exaggerated movements to show he wasn't hiding any keys. The four assistants dug into a bin kept beside the weight lifting machine and began by cramming Shilo into a straitjacket. Then, for good measure, they slapped chains on Shilo's torso and legs, and manacles on his ankles, then attached the soles of his feet to a glass panel affixed with a metal bar.

There was a chain connected to the glass, which was part of a pulley system.

Barda picked up chalk dust from a bowl on the ground, rubbed her hands together, patted them, building a cloud of dust, and reached down for the chain and pulled. Shilo was lifted off the ground by his feet. He glanced at Barda as he went past her. She patted the top of head with her hand. "Good luck," she whispered.

"You too."

Barda waited while the assistants moved like clockwork, bringing over a full-to-the-brim glass tank in position under Shilo. She lowered him into it. Displacement splashed her with water. Lights turned on inside the tank, illuminating Shilo. He began his escape immediately. The assistants wheeled the tank to the two-thousand pound weight, which was ready to be lifted.

Barda chalked her hands again, lifted up the handle, gave a groan of effort and pulled. Her arms trembled just once, but she lifted two-thousand pounds off the ground high enough for the water tank to slide under it, and about three feet for the glass lid to clear when Shilo escaped.

"Now Barda can hold the weight for only a short period of time before her arms give out. Mister Miracle has an additional one minute and forty-five seconds to get out of the straitjacket, six padlocks and the glass tank before Barda can't hold it anymore, and he's crushed by two-thousand pounds. That is if he doesn't drown first."

A clock was already ticking, showing just one minute and 24 seconds left.

Barda held tight and strong.

Shilo was wriggling, jerking free of the straitjacket, taking extra long just to freak the audience out. It took him more than half the time to get out of the jacket, which left only about forty seconds to pick the locks and get out.

Barda's arm quivered for a second. She watched as Shilo picked lock after lock. Each one sank heavily to the tank floor.

She let the weights lower a tiny bit. The audience gasped. Some screamed.

Eighteen seconds left. She let the weight lower a bit more and gave a groan that echoed.

Ten seconds. Shilo was working on his ankles.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

The audience started counting.

"Six."

"Five."

"Four!"

Then the chain suddenly broke.

Barda flew backwards, crashing into the ground. The weight fell at the same time, crushing the glass into powder, blasting icy cold water in all directions. The last thing she saw was Shilo freeze, hands going up the protect himself.

The audience screamed and were on their feet.

Assistants started running.

Barda leapt to her feet and yanked on the chain.

People looked away, unable to behold the horror of a crushed man.

But he was not there.

The spotlights vanished and focused on a platform high above the ground.

The audience looked up and a roaring cheer went through the crowd.

Mister Miracle kissed his lock picks and tossed them in an arc over the platform. He was still dripping wet.

* * *

Shilo knocked on Barda's door.

"Come in," she said, her voice sounding anxious and distracted.

Shilo stuck his wet head inside. He'd changed his clothes, but his long hair would take some time to dry off. "Good show tonight."

"Cutting it a little close, don't you think?" She asked, unamused. "Do you want to get squashed like a ripe melon?"

Shilo shrugged. "I've never tried it. Must be fun." Then his cellphone jingled in his pocket. He pulled it out and began texting. He didn't look up when he said, "Why haven't you changed? I thought the gang was going out to dinner. Everyone's waiting for us."

Barda shook her head and studied something in her hand.

Shilo looked up when she didn't say anything and saw that she was holding a white object in her hand. "You gotta be kidding me! Not that damn egg again!"

"Scott left because of this!"

"He'll be fine. Scott can take care of himself. If anyone should know that, it's you." Shilo went back to texting.

"I'm worried that he didn't tell me where he was going. He knew I'd try to stop him. Or try to go with him."

"Look, just give the guy some room. You're way too much of a control freak." He held up his phone. "Like my girlfriend."

Barda gave him a threatening look. "Care to run that by me again?"

Shilo gave a weak laugh. "No."

"That's what I—Oh!" Barda jumped to her feet when the egg elevated out of her hand.

Shilo's jaw dropped open.

The room began to swirl with a weak, tornado-like breeze. Papers flew up into the air, make up brushes and applicators rolled or flew off the table. Barda stepped back. Shilo opened the door. Grabbed Barda's arm. "Let's get the hell out of here."

She yanked her arm away. "No."

There was a sucking, hissing noise and a portal opened up on one side of the egg. It was shaped like a cat's iris, illuminated with jagged blue and green light.

Barda looked into the portal and saw a bedroom, the silhouette of a girl sitting on the bed. "Hey!" She shouted over the noise, which now sounded like an engine.

The girl didn't move, didn't respond. But the egg began to shift in space. It pulled itself through the portal and was suddenly on the other side. The portal began to close.

Barda snatched Shilo's cell phone from his hand and tossed it into the portal just before it closed.

"Barda! What the hell! What am I going to tell Fiona?"

"Tell your girlfriend she's too much of a control freak."

"You lost my damn phone."

Barda picked up her horned helmet and Mega Rod. "Yeah, so I could find it again."

Shilo gave a sigh. "So does this mean we're not going to dinner?"

* * *

Lucius jumped out of the chair with much more agility than he looked capable of.

Batman put himself in between the Lucius and the open portal. The egg hovered there, then tilted and charged forward through the opened. Inside there was a Japanese girl sitting on the bed, quiet and still.

The portal began to close and Batman took a tracking device from his belt, activated it and flung it into the portal before it sealed shut with a pulse. "Where is it, Lucius?" Batman asked as he pulled on his cowl.

Lucius was already checking the computer. "Metropolis Children's Hospital. Uh…Mister Wayne? You might want to take a look at this."

Batman looked at Lucius. Then followed his gaze out of the window.

Moving closer, he saw a bright green spotlight projected into the sky. It was eerily reminiscent of the Liaoning meteorite. The spotlight swayed slightly, as if in a breeze, showing the unmistakable symbol of the bat against the rain clouds. The weird thing was that the shaft of light appeared to come out of nowhere. It was bright green, casting over the buildings and trees surrounding it. But it was not actually a spotlight. It was something else entirely.

"I thought they destroyed the Bat Signal," Lucius said after several moments.

"They did."


	9. The Conduit

**The Conduit**

Sakura sat paralyzed.

They came from everywhere. One-hundred tiny white orbs. They sprang from multi-colored portals like wild white lilies from grass. The room lit up like it was suddenly underwater, submerged in hues of pinks, greens, blues and purples the likes of which Sakura had never seen. But the colors swirled with a pattern. They didn't hurt her eyes at all. The portals parked themselves in an even circle, suspended at about three feet, gently pushing away all her easels and belongings. Approximately at eye-level with Sakura.

As the portals closed, the eggs began to open up. They were just like the one she'd opened earlier, a puzzle box. Each egg split into a hundred pieces, and soon there were ten-thousand tiny white shards in her room, staggered in the loose shape of a sphere. The glowing white filaments started disconnecting and reconnecting on their own, like a massive, exquisitely complex switchboard manned by invisible hands.

The wires began to knit together, bundling up into a system that looked very familiar and beautiful to Sakura. And with a start that didn't show on her body except as a twitch of her lower lip, she realized it look like a circulatory system. She'd seen anatomy diagrams plenty of times. The glowing filaments began to undulate with color, as if they flowed with a luminescent fluid.

The egg shards came together, fitted together with clicks like marbles hitting against one another. Sakura watched as the pieces folded in over the filaments, forming a sarcophagus. Arms appeared; a spot for a head, legs. It continued to look fluid, like it would fit a body like a snug sweater.

The arms and legs began to rotate; gears and barrels extruded themselves out of the major forms, clicked, ticked and became solid. Sakura sat and watched out of the corner of her eyes, not missing one detail. Contour lines appeared over every inch, fleshing out the suit with organic-looking, beautiful curves.

But it was the helmet that had her mesmerized. The inner surface was covered with hundreds of tiny sensors, circles that were also bluish white lights. From the middle of each circle there was a white filament that pulled through and flicked back and forth like cilia.

Sakura stood up, tilted her head, birdlike and looked at the helmet closely. The cilia waved as if saying hello.

She lifted her index finger to the tapered end of one of the cilia. A tingling feeling pulsed through her skin.

The helmet's circular sensors changed colors. From a bluish white, waves of colors rippled outward from the place where she touched it. Sakura lifted the helmet from the shoulders. It was still connected by wire filaments, bundles stretching.

She turned and placed the helmet gingerly over her head.

Her entire scalp began to tingle. Her hairs stood on end. Her spine tingled. She turned and walked backwards into the open suit. The circular sensors ran the length of a spine too and her entire body began to tingle. She closed her eyes.

Inside her head the strange green man's voice spoke. "Sakura Sato, you will be my Conduit. You are going to experience some discomfort during the calibration process."

He never mentioned that the calibration was going to be performed on her.

* * *

Kenji shifted exhaustedly in bed. He heaved a sigh. He wished he could sleep. He had a little insomnia from time to time. A little to do with the medications he was taking, and a little to do with the chemotherapy. Sometimes it was the Red Bull working over time. He swore, sometimes those things gave him nightmares. The chemicals, the entire witch's brew, fucked with his brain, he was sure of it.

But tonight he was being kept awake by his interaction with Sakura. Something about the egg he'd given her bugged him. Maybe he shouldn't have done it. He'd been so damn tired from restraining her from hitting herself that he hadn't noticed that he'd seen those eggs before. Actually, he couldn't believe he'd missed it. The thing was all over the news. It was basically harmless, from what he'd heard, but the way Sakura had been screaming, well, it just didn't sit well with him. It made him anxious. Uneasy. Of course, that could be the nausea.

Kenji turned on the TV. The news would be on right now, after all. He tried propping his head on the heel of his hand, but that was way too exhausting. He laid his head on his pillow and stared at the TV sideways. He should really put the TV on its side. That way he'd be able to see it right.

"Tonight on Metropolis at Eleven, we're bringing you breaking news on the developing story on the space eggs. I'm Moira Guinness."

Kenji sat up immediately. Turned up the volume. "And I'm Matt Taylor."

"As reported three weeks earlier, individuals all over the world have been coming across these space eggs. It didn't take very long for people to recognize that these eggs were not made of technology that originated on earth. Scientists, researchers and mathematicians from top universities, government facilities, and even some private labs, like LexCorp, have been purchasing the largest quantities of eggs from civilians for further study. One egg has been reported as selling for as much as one-point-two million dollars. Before scientists could determine the threat of these eggs, if any, university and laboratory spokespersons are claiming these eggs have gone missing, despite being stored in secure locations with camera surveillance. The disappearance of these stored eggs appears to have occurred simultaneously, and internationally. Labs and universities are not alleging a breach of security, but suspect the eggs themselves have acted on their own. That seems to be the only explanation for how they pulled their disappearing act. We'll keep you posted."

"Next up, the destruction of the Liaoning Meteorite—is Batman responsible? And Bill Johnson with the weather for tomorrow. Coming up. Don't go away…"

Kenji frowned and turned off the TV. Did that mean that Sakura's egg had vanished too? She must have seen what happened. The girl hadn't been able to look away from the damn thing, not even for a second. If anyone knew, it was her.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Kenji was in her room. His jaw dropped when he saw the state of it. Total disarray, absolute chaos. And Sakura was freakin' _anal_ when it came to keeping her room in order. She started screaming if, like, a string in the carpet was out of place.

The easels were moved against the walls, her bed pushed on its side, against the corner.

Kenji couldn't believe no one had heard any noise. He closed the door behind himself as soon as got in.

Sakura was nowhere to be seen.

He went further in. Maybe she was in the bathroom.

The door was slightly ajar, but it was dark inside. But he did notice a subtle turquoise color reflected on the tile floor. It was a weird color, not something you'd expect to come out of a hospital bathroom.

He knocked on the door a couple of times, quietly. He was afraid of frightening her. "Sakura? You here?"

"I'm here, Kenji."

He almost jumped out of his skin. He'd never gotten a clear, straight reply from her like that. And she'd never, ever, said his name.

He frowned. "What the f—" He pushed open the door and pulled back in surprise. "Whoa."

A figure stood in the middle of the room, wearing something like an exo suit. He'd never seen anything quite like it. It was white in color, like a brand-new car, but covered in contour lines and shone like the inside of a shell. The shoulders were broad, rounded, sleek. Tiny bean-shaped lights lined the arms, the legs, the spine, shoulders.

The figure turned.

When he saw Sakura smiling—yeah, _smiling_ —at him through an opening on the helmet, Kenji stumbled back into the bedroom. He hadn't seen this girl smile. Ever. This was freaking him out. He didn't like the look of her suit. He didn't like those barrels on the arms.

She walked out after him, looking down at herself, flexing her fingers. "You're not going to believe what just happened."

"Yeah, I-I'm having a little trouble," he stammered finally. "What _is_ that? And what happened to you? Do you—do you remember how you were?"

She shrugged in a kind of girlish way. It didn't look possible in that suit, but she pulled it off. She seemed to have grown taller by about six inches. And Kenji had been trying not to acknowledge this since seeing her a minute ago, but she looked menacing. "He told me I'm his Conduit. He…calibrated me."

Kenji raised his brows, deeply worried. "Did you just say he _calibrated_ you?"

"Yes. He fixed my autism."

"Who?" Kenji demanded.

"The one who sent these eggs to earth. He needs help. He told me Superman is preparing an attack. And he chose me, because I was able to break the egg. I have to go."

Kenji grabbed her arm as she opened the window. "Sakura, wait. Where are you going?"

"LexCorp."

"Why?"

She blinked. "I'm going to take all the information and give it to him so he can decide which one is the best way to stop Superman."

"Who is this fucking guy?!"

"He said his name is Brainiac. We have to stop Superman together."

Kenji pulled on her cold, steely arm. "Look, do you really think this is such a good idea? You don't even know who he is."

Sakura took her arm away and pushed the window open further.

Kenji pushed her away from the window. "Let's go tell someone else before you go and—"

Sakura shoved him abruptly. "Get off me!" She shook her head. "I thought you'd be happy for me. I'm not—I'm not a freak anymore."

Kenji smacked against the overturned mattress, but his head cracked against the footboard. He gave a groan. But he was more stunned by Sakura's behavior than the actual fall. "You're not a freak _anymore_?" Kenji demanded before he could bite the words back.

Sakura gave him the coldest look he'd ever seen her muster. The helmet closed over her face. There was no nose or mouth, just a glowing blue visor. "You're not going to stop me. Nothing is ever going to stop me again."

She swung her legs out the window.

Kenji jumped up and went to catch her around the waist. "Sakura, wait!"

But he grabbed thin air as she went plummeting down the five stories. "Sakura!"

She never hit the ground. A portal opened up under her from one of the barrels on her arm, and she flew in, feet first. It closed behind her with a thunderclap.

Kenji was breathing hard. He fell down on his butt beside the window and felt something on his neck. He touched it and saw that it was blood. "Ah, shit," he muttered. He'd have to explain that to the nurses later. He didn't know what to do. Should he call the cops and tell them? Should he call the FBI? Who the hell was he supposed to call when a fucking alien entity was controlling someone he knew? Who was he supposed to call when he learned that Superman might possibly unleash an attack?

He sighed and looked at the floor and spotted two things he hadn't noticed before. A cell phone vibrating, showing _Slide to answer_ on the screen. And a small black object with a blinking red light. He crawled to the two items and picked up the black thing. It was shaped like a bat.

Yeah, maybe he could call that guy.

That's when he saw a shadow pass over the window. Speak of the devil, Kenji thought.

But it wasn't the Batman.

* * *

 _Author's Note: There is another Superman villain by the name of Conduit. My creation is my own; however, DC's Conduit is Kenny Braverman. He was born on the side of the road as Kal-El's ship passed over him. Kenny, as a newborn, received kryptonite radiation poisoning from the starship during its descent. He suffered from illness as a child, but became a close second to Clark Kent in sports. When he gets older, he develops stronger powers and uses a specialized suit that amplifies them. The suit also utilizes kryptonite and Kenny of course battles Superman._

 _I had already christened Sakura Sato as Conduit before I decided that the chances were pretty good there was already someone named that. I was right. I chose to keep the name because it's fitting._


	10. Rendezvous at Sakura's Room

**Rendezvous at Sakura's Room**

Kenji screamed and leapt backwards when a slender man with long hair vaulted lithely into the room.

Right afterwards, a woman flew in. She scrunched up her body as she did, like a surfer balling up on his board as the wave spiraled into tube around him. She hopped off a pair of silver discs and landed with a ground-shaking _thump_. The discs shrank, flew into her hands and she tucked it into her belt at her back. She advanced on Kenji with startling speed.

Kenji tripped over his own feet. Fell on his butt. He scooted backwards against the closed door.

The young man who'd entered first raised a finger in protest. Made some kind of a noise. "Uh…" But he seemed to notice, much like Kenji, that it was no use arguing with her. She was like a damn freight train.

Kenji reached up behind him to open the door. He got it cracked an inch when the huge-ass woman slammed it shut.

Suddenly he was off the floor. And she had him pinned against the door by the throat. "Where is he?"

He'd never seen such a huge woman. She was about seven feet tall, but what worried him wasn't her height or even that she was cutting off enough oxygen from his brain that he was getting light-headed. It was the rod she was holding, which began glowing red, vanished for a moment and changed shape into a battle axe. She spun it and brought it to rest under Kenji's jaw, as gently as a lover's touch. The cold metal stung.

"Who?" He gasped.

"Where's Scott?" She demanded, coming in close to his face. "Don't lie."

"I don't know…Scott," Kenji said hoarsely and tried to pull her hand away.

"I told you not to lie." She pressed the blade into his neck.

"I'm not lying!" Kenji literally squealed. He never thought his voice was capable of hitting those soprano notes.

"He's telling you the truth," said a disembodied voice from the corner, low and gravelly.

All three of them turned to look when they saw a dark shape pull itself away from the darkened doorway of the bathroom.

The woman let Kenji drop—thankfully _after_ taking the battle axe away from his neck.

Kenji inhaled loudly and began coughing. Checked his neck for blood. He looked up at her, feeling like a child. Then he turned to look at the living shadow.

The woman scowled irritably at Batman. "What are you doing here?"

Batman came away from the dark wall and stepped closer. He bent down and picked up a small black object. His tracking device. He also picked up the smart phone, which was lying beside it. He showed it to her. "Same as you." He handed the cell phone to her and she snatched it from him. "This has nothing to do with you. Why don't you stop sticking your nose in other people's business before I stick my foot up your—"

"Whoa, whoa there, Barda. Let's just cool it." The long-haired guy reached down and helped Kenji up. "First of all, I'm very sorry for _her_ behavior."

"Don't—" Kenji's voice came out raspy. He cleared his throat. "Don't mention it. That's the most excitement I've had in years."

Barda made a sound of contempt.

Batman stepped around the room. "What happened to the girl that was in here?"

"I think I should ask the questions around here," Barda challenged, "since I'm the one looking for my missing husband."

Batman looked at her, then gave a go-ahead gesture.

She scowled at him and looked at Kenji.

Kenji stared back.

"Well?" Barda demanded. "Where is she?"

"Oh. Uh, she disappeared."

Barda shook her head. "I'm regretting this already."

"But I know where she's going." Kenji added almost immediately. "LexCorp."

Barda frowned. "Why?"

"She told me it's the only way to stop Superman. He's going to attack."

"Let's go," she said to the long-haired guy. Then she turned to look at Batman. "Are you coming with us?"

But he was already gone.

* * *

 _Author's Note: I'm sorry for the very short chapter. I'm running out of enthusiasm for the story, but mostly because I've had only one review for almost ten chapters. It's difficult to know if people are enjoying it, so if you could just take a minute to tell me your thoughts, that would be much appreciated. Thanks for reading and keeping up with this story so far!_


	11. In a Flash

**In a Flash**

Lois stared nervously into the camera. Nausea stirred her guts and she swallowed hard. She shivered in her satin nightgown, skin prickling with goose bumps. Her hair was a knotted mess from flying through the night air in Superman's arms.

She couldn't believe what was happening.

It started when he entered her apartment through her window, with stealth she didn't know he had. But in hindsight, she should have known. He didn't make a sound when he flew, when he hovered. He'd melted the latch on her third floor window and hovered inside, suspended inches above the floor.

She woke up when he put his palm over her mouth. His hand was hot, muscular and very, very big. She'd never feared Superman until that moment. His large hands, which had always seemed to promise safety, now made her wonder how easily he could crush her jaw.

He seemed to have grown in height. She never imagined how menacing he could be.

She lay paralyzed in bed as he pulled the bed sheet to the floor. She instinctively grabbed for his wrist. He simply stopped, looked at her and said, "You can't fight him."

 _Him?_

But there was something unsettling about his gaze, like he was spaced out, like he was distracted by something and not really looking _at_ her, but _through_ her.

He slid his hands under her and lifted her up.

"Clark?" She said tentatively.

He paused briefly, blinked rapidly, and resumed his path, headed for the window.

She began to struggle. "Stop. What are you doing?" She demanded. When he didn't answer, Lois began to fight. She kicked her legs and screamed. She knew it was pointless, but she wasn't going to go without a fight.

Something seemed to snap inside him, however, and he gripped her tightly and gave her a shake. Lois gasped in pain as she felt a rib crack inside her, the noise wet and muffled.

Clark dropped her.

She moaned in pain, her leg burning excruciatingly. She pulled up her nightgown with shaking fingers and saw a handprint-shaped bruise already forming, red and black and ugly as all hell. She drew breath and moaned again. It hurt to breathe.

Superman leaned down and said to her, "Don't fight him. He doesn't want to hurt you. But I will if you resist."

It was amazing how successfully her pain produced her cooperation. She didn't fight again, and allowed Superman—or whatever was controlling him—to carry her out into the night air.

She tried calling to him every few minutes, urging him to stop, to reconsider. Always using his name, using her name, but it was to no avail. He seemed sealed away inside, and the only thing that gave her a sense that he could hear her was a twitch in his facial muscles, or rapid blinking, or, in one heart-stopping moment, a faltering flight pattern.

They had arrived here at the Metropolis News 8 Studio just a minute ago, but the place had cleared out in a matter of seconds. There were chairs and papers scattered over the sleek, tiled studio, spilled coffee, things like that.

Lois squinted up at the bright white stage lights. All the anchor people had fled. Security guards fired their guns empty after Superman dropped her in the chair and could do nothing else but call for backup.

Lois sat anxiously in the anchorman's seat, stiff from pain, her mouth dry.

The cameraman stood behind his equipment. He was shaking, the camera's handle rattling under his grip. The guy with the microphone was frozen in place, waiting for her to speak.

In the control room sat a group of people, rapt and afraid to move. The ON AIR sign was lit.

A man cued the shot, counting down with fingers then pointing at her at the final second. Lois looked down at the piece of paper Superman had given her. He stood behind her, hands on her shoulders.

Lois began reading to the camera.

* * *

 _TWO DAYS EARLIER._

You know, it never fails. Get in the shower and there's a knock at the door.

Well, in my case, it wasn't so much a door as it was the wall.

And it wasn't so much a knock as it was absolute annihilation of the aforementioned wall.

My reaction came instantaneously. It took about four milliseconds. I dodged the flying crumbs of plaster, leaving nothing behind by hanging droplets of water. I watched specs of dust flow inward, interacting with the drops of hanging water. It's like watching a video captured by a slow-motion camera, one of those things that have about a thousand frames per second instead of the standard 25.

Okay, I'm not bragging when I say this—really, I'm not—but it's almost impossible to catch me off guard. So that's why I gotta hand it to the big guy. When he came barreling through the Iranian tiles of my bathroom wall like it was an exploding cake, I gotta admit, I was not expecting him.

As I stood there in my birthday suit, my jaw slack to the floor when I saw that it was Superman who decided to crash—literally.

In the time it took for him to dust off, I was already dry and dressed. "You could have used the door," I remarked, giving him a once over. He didn't look quite like I thought he would, you know, like a squeaky clean mama's boy. Actually, he looked deranged. His hair was limp, overgrown and he had heavy stubble. His suit was torn in places and stained with dark brown down the front, like blood. Hmm. Could Superman bleed?

He raised his head and his eyes flickered like embers. They became brighter and brighter until—Holy crap!

I flung my body to the right as twin beams of neon red cratered another pair of holes in my beautiful Iranian tiles.

A dazed look of astonishment crossed his face. Beams shot out of his eyes again, blasting more holes and obliterating the last of my tiles. I dodged each time, sending dust and shards of tile flying upward. I caught a few chunks and threw them at him, but they exploded into powder. Seriously, he didn't even feel a thing.

"What are you _doing_?" I demanded finally.

He pulled the sink from the wall and spun it toward me like a discus.

I flashed out of the way and it went through the remainder of the wall—then went crashing through two more. It bounced twice, skidded to a stop in the living room, and fell apart.

All right, that was it. I could deal with the Iranian tiles being annihilated, I wanted to remodel anyway, but the granite sink was the last straw.

He came at me all of a sudden, and damn, he was quick. Faster than I thought. He caught me around the waist and I think I passed out from the force, just for a split second. My brain bounced around a couple of times in my head. Felt like I was bonked in the head with a boulder.

We went through two walls, three, maybe four, who the hell knows. But anyway, I lost count and I was suddenly staring up at Mrs. Sykowski's stunned, wrinkled face gawking out from under Pepto Bismol-pink hair-curlers. "Don't know you know it's rude to stare?" I chided her with a groan just as Superman grabbed me around the neck and went hurtling through the ceiling.

Let's say I became very intimate, very fast, with a lot of concrete and steel beams before finally kissing the night air outside. I was spitting bloody chunks of concrete when he was through and dropped me on the condo rooftop.

I lay there on my back for a few stunned moments, drawing on the Speed Force to heal me. I vibrated my body, slowly at first, then faster and faster until my body healed. I could breathe again without feeling like I was drowning in my own blood and I sat up, lively as ever. I motioned a T with my hands. "Look. Time out. Why are you doing this?"

He opened his mouth to tell me. But a strangled yell wrenched from his throat and his hands flew to the sides of his head. He stood there like that, hunched over, for several seconds, growling through gritted teeth. And that's when I realized he was crushing his own skull.

"Hey, stop!" I protested. I ran over to him and tried to pull his hands free. Blood leaked out of his nose and he dropped to his knees.

I began to hit him hard and fast, rushing around in a red blur around him, fists flying like I'd sudden sprouted a thousand of them. He took every one of those punches like they came from a gnat and still he didn't stop.

I couldn't believe it. I was about to become the guy who watched Superman _kill himself_.

I spotted a stack of bricks and some cans of tar on the roof, covered with a blue, plastic tarp. I skid over it, began flinging bricks at his head. It knocked one hand free. I began getting excite that it was working, and began throwing faster. In seconds the bricks were almost gone. I snatched up the can of tar and tossed it at him. The lid flew off. Thick, sticky tar splashed all over him, into his eyes, nose. Even his mouth, man. I stopped. "Oops."

Superman started coughing and spitting, but it seemed to snap him out of whatever suicidal tendencies my simple question might have induced.

He looked down at himself, flung tar away. Some drops stretched toward me, like sticky molasses. "Watch the suit," I told him, dodging.

He glared up at me, folded his arms over his chest and launched into a spin. The ground began tearing up where he floated, spinning like a gravity-defying top, flinging off a fine spray of black tar. By the time he was done I was looking less like the Scarlet Speedster, and more like the Taupey Tar-baby.

I tried wiping my face, but the thing with tar is, the more you try to get rid of it, the more it spreads. I groaned. "This is never coming off." I glared up at him. "What the hell is your problem, anyway?"

He exhaled deeply, composing himself. "Darkseid summons you."

I narrowed my eyes. "Who?"

"He summons all of us."

There was a sudden _whoosh_ behind me, like something breathing hard on my neck and I spun around. There was a huge white hole there, a tear in space, bright enough to make me shut my eyes. When I opened them, standing on the other side of the portal was the ugliest mofo I ever saw. I was absolutely sure it couldn't get any worse.

And then he started talking. That was it. Just talking, like _Hello, how are you?_ Harmless, right?

Calm, quiet whisperings came over me, soothing and insidious at the same time. And even as I tried to understand, I was ensnared in the black beauty of what he had to say.

Beams of black light emanated from inside his mouth, like shadows. With each word he uttered, words from another language, the shadow beams grew denser and more numerous. The first two pierced my eyes painlessly, then my forehead, then my mouth, my throat, my chest, my heart. They began to multiply with each word he enunciated in a deep, rumbling voice. The words themselves meant nothing, but I understood them nonetheless. I understood the logic of all of it. I understood the complex philosophy of hopelessness, compressed in its entirety into mere moments.

I couldn't stop listening. I wanted to stop, to pull away, but it was too late. I'd heard too much already and although I can go back in time, doing so will not change what I have inside my mind. Doing so will not change my memories.

The longer I listened, merely moments only, he started making sense. His voice became my own. And I was suddenly, astonishingly, talking to myself, reasoning with myself, telling myself that everything that I'd ever done was in vain. It was a poisonous pep talk, a demon goading on the urge to harm one self, to kill oneself. I understood now, why Superman came to me.

Superman came to my side and we paid obeisance together, fist to the ground, one knee down, the other folded, head bowed.

I looked up at Lord Darkseid and beheld his black glory. And I asked him, "Who's next?"

* * *

 _Please be sure to review! I'd love to hear what you're all thinking._


	12. The Broadcast

_Author's Note: Just wanted to say to Krowe, thank you for the encouragement._

* * *

 **Eleven – The Broadcast**

Batman was already headed for LexCorp along a narrow dirt road. The security fences were visible from this distance. They were electrified, mounted with motion-activated cameras. Lining the road, under scrubby bushes and sand, were hidden turrets. This place was about as well-protected as Area 51. There were warning signs for trespassers everywhere. RESTRICTED AREA: TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED. LETHAL FORCE AUTHORIZED.

As Batman approached the turret range, a panel beeped on his dashboard, signaling an incoming call. Batman pressed a couple of buttons to make sure the call was encrypted from his end, and answered, "Yes, Alfred."

"Sir, you'll want to see this."

The four-paneled monitor on his dashboard lit up. Batman's eyes narrowed at the screen as he kept a watchful eye on where he was driving.

Lois Lane of the Daily Planet—the reporter he'd met some weeks back during the meteorite exhibit—sat timidly at the News Studio 8 desk, a rumpled letter in her hands and Superman at her back. He remembered their brief chat about weaknesses.

Batman simultaneously slammed the brakes and spun the steering wheel, making a tight, exquisitely controlled spin worthy of any stunt driver. A spray of gravel and dust fanned out from the under the Tumbler's wheels. "Alfred, is it ready?"

"The suit is waiting for you, Sir."

#

Lois' voice was hardly above a dry whisper. Her eyes scanned the rumpled letter she was holding. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. And she could hardly bring herself to say the ominous words. If Superman hadn't given her shoulders a hard squeeze, enough to make her grimace on LIVE TV, she might not have even been able to speak. "People of earth," she croaked at the shiny camera lens. "I am Lord Darkseid, ruler of the planet Apokolips. Soon, I will rule you."

A murmur went through the studio crew.

"Even as you hear my words, I am enlisting the greatest warriors your planet has to offer. The Kryptonian whom you have fostered these past thirty-three years is the first. I am installing General Kal-El as overlord of Earth in my absence. There will be others to follow.

"As your new master, I issue this first command: Find the one called Conduit. She is a human female and an ally of Brainiac, an intergalactic thief of intelligence and destroyer of planets. If you fail to find this Conduit, I will allow Brainiac to annihilate you on his terms. If you succeed, I will let you live on mine."

Lois raised her head and met her gaze with the camera lens. "That's it," she said numbly. She tried to stand, but Superman held her down. "Ow!" She cried out. "You're hurting me!"

Superman didn't seem to care. A tremor went through his hands and into her shoulders. She looked back at him and saw his head was tilted to the side a little bit, eyes closed. Perspiration—she'd never seen him sweat—dotted his hairline, the bridge of his nose. That's when she realized that he was fighting. The entire time, all the days that he'd been missing, Superman had been fighting a nonstop battle against _something._ Something that was controlling his mind. It was just matter of time before he gave in completely. It was why he had to give in sometimes, because it gave him strength to fight when he really had to.

The lights began to flicker. Suddenly everything in the whole building shut off. The central air conditioning died with a droning, fading hum. The lights blinked out. The camera made a high-pitched whine and cut off abruptly. Everything was. Pitch. Black.

Superman let Lois go. She heard him breathing heavily, panting, staggering on his feet.

An eerie red glow began to appear near his head. He turned his head back and forth, a red-eyed demon scanning for threats. "Everyone, get out!" Lois shrieked and really, that was all it took. People began stumbling over each other in the dark, cell phones came out, blue rectangles started bouncing, dancing with the crowd like some twisted horror night club.

Superman looked down at the ground. The angry red halo enveloped his head. Wisps of smoke coiled into the air as his lashes burned. Then suddenly two bright beams of scarlet crashed forward. They were loud—like a pair of searing blowtorches.

Lois darted around the anchor's desk and was preparing to run for it, but she couldn't. She couldn't leave him. She had to witness what was happening and tell the world. It was her job. Clark wanted her to do her job. Otherwise he would have left her sound asleep in bed.

The floor around his feet began to melt. The acrid scent of burning linoleum, tile glue entered her nose.

She spotted a cell phone someone had dropped in the mad rush for escape. She picked it up and began to record. That's when she noticed a green glow appear in the hallway from the snack room backstage.

The floor began to shake from what Superman was doing. The building was trembling as he destroyed concrete, steel, holding still so he didn't hurt people—so he didn't hurt her. But Lois detected a rhythm to the trembling also, like heavy, metallic footsteps. In fact, the heavier those steps became, the brighter the green began to glow.

A black shadow came from around the corner. A man in an exo-suit. With two very pointy ears.

#

 _A few minutes earlier._

Kyle Rayner began to think Batman wasn't coming. He'd been waiting for hours now, and his arm was getting tired. His focus was splintering and his stomach rumbled. Despite that, he had no appetite. He was worried about his best friend, Wally. Wally hadn't eaten either. In fact, Wally hadn't done much of anything these past couple of days. Kyle had been keeping him sedated so he didn't accidentally kill Kyle. Or anyone else for that matter. He only hoped that Batman hadn't lost his mind too.

With each passing hour, though, Kyle's apprehension grew. Maybe Batman had become the enemy and Kyle didn't even know it. After all, it had taken him too long to realize something was wrong with Wally—and that guy was his best friend.

Kyle definitely looked up to Batman. But really, he'd heard the guy was a total douchebag. Could Kyle really differentiate Batman's regular douchebag personality from a more sinister, dangerous, homicidal personality? Kyle didn't think so. But he didn't have other choice. Superman was missing, and frankly that was out of character for _him_. Kyle knew Superman cared too much to just go AWOL like that. And if Superman couldn't be trusted, Kyle knew he couldn't handle someone that powerful. Better to stay with a human. Batman, he was sure, he could deal with—should it come to that. He hoped it wouldn't, though.

The Bat Signal hovering in the sky flickered as Kyle's concentration faltered. He hadn't slept for three days—keeping constant guard over Wally. He was also running out of access to sedatives—Wally's metabolism kept using it up so fast he'd actually woken up a couple of times and almost got the best of Kyle. Kyle was nursing a shiner, a bruised jaw, broken ribs and a twisted ankle. He began feeling a little bad for himself when suddenly, one of the motion sensors Kyle had set up began to go off.

Kyle spun around. The Bat Signal he shone into the sky from the ring on his hand vanished. "Stop!" He ordered. It was Batman. He'd answered the Signal after all.

Batman stalked closer. Kyle was caught between the pull of hero-worship and real genuine fear. The guy was about six-four, almost crowning seven feet with the ears on the cowl. Kyle knew now that Batman wasn't taking any chances with him—just as Kyle wasn't taking any chances with Batman.

He was wearing a gas mask over his face. His eyes blazed from behind the cowl.

"Stop!" Kyle barked again.

But Batman kept coming. He was about ten feet away.

"I said stop!" Kyle shouted and raised his fist. The ring began to glow.

Batman stopped. But then he skipped something across the asphalt like pebbles over a lake.

Kyle fired off an arc of emerald light, blinding Batman and simultaneously erecting a green, transparent box around him. Batman whipped his head his head away, squinting. As smoke began to spray and curl up from the pellet, Kyle put his free hand up to his mouth and nose, but it was too late. A cough fought its way from his chest like a sledgehammer. Kyle groaned in pain. His ribs felt like a chainsaw trapped in his chest.

Batman watched silently from inside the box as Kyle fought a losing battle. The box around Batman flickered, thinned and shattered. The pieces disappeared before they hit the ground.

Kyle gagged and dropped to his knees, his breath ragged, eyes streaming. He raised his hand, formed a weak fist and a wall of green, wobbly light appeared in front of Batman.

But Batman walked right through it. It crumbled like blown glass.

Kyle pushed himself to his feet, tightened his fist and slammed Batman with a wrecking ball of blindingly green tsavorite. Batman flew back with a grunt and hit a tree on a street corner. He bounced off and fell on a parked car, flattening the top.

Kyle was coughing uncontrollably, gasping for air, hugging his chest. Batman lay there, winded. It bought Kyle a few moments. When he collected himself, he weaved closer, his arm up and at the ready.

Batman reached for his belt, but Kyle lifted him off the car, encased in green, and pinned him to the side of a building. Batman struggled against the green light for a few seconds, but it was no use. He was pinned in place with a full-body casing.

Kyle cleared his throat. "I told you to stop," Kyle rasped. "For God's sake, you can _trust_ me."

"How do I know that?" Batman asked.

"I called _you._ "

"Why?"

"I'm an officer of the Green Lantern Corps. We're investigating the extraterrestrial eggs that entered earth's atmosphere some weeks ago." He cleared his throat again. He released Batman, who dropped to the ground.

"So you're the Green Lantern."

"Yes."

"Have you seen the broadcast?"

Kyle's brows furrowed in puzzlement. "What broadcast?"'

There was a sudden, nearby humming in the sky. Kyle looked up, but couldn't see anything. The noise was unsettling, getting louder. He feared it was something dangerous, something Batman was going to hit him with. His hand clenched into a fist.

"No time to explain," Batman said. "Meet me at News Studio 8 in Metropolis."

Green Lantern floated upward, unable to resist showing off. He smiled awkwardly. "It would be faster if…uh…I carried you there."

Batman pulled his grapple gun from his belt, and cinched the cord around the wheel on his belt. "No need. I already have a ride." He looked up and Kyle saw the thing that was making all that noise. The Batwing. Dropping by for a pick up. Kyle watched as Batman vanished into the port under the aircraft.

The meeting hadn't gone exactly as Kyle had hoped. As he shot off toward Studio 8, he muttered glumly, "It's a pleasure to meet you, too."


End file.
